


Hear Me Now

by Elliott_Fletcher



Series: The Line of Youth [6]
Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Kissing at Midnight, M/M, self-deprecation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 19:34:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8934157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elliott_Fletcher/pseuds/Elliott_Fletcher
Summary: The wind whips around the branches, but they are calm in meeting and in parting lips; the air is cold but their breaths are hot.





	

Izumi checks his watch. It is three minutes past one, and he feels incredibly stupid right about now. He hides the stupidity well, though, from the base of a tree with bark almost as dark as Mizutani's eyes - _and_ the stupidity comes right back again.

  
His mother would probably kick him for talking down on himself like he is. His father would probably agree with him. His brother would encourage it, say he never got anywhere good without a little self-doubt (and Izumi would restrain a comment that would land him with a grounding that would keep him in the house for months - but at least he would not be waiting past midnight at the park for a friend he does not even know is going to show up).

  
He tugs his jacket tighter around his ribs, and the friction of his t-shirt and the lined jacket warms him a little. He sees his breath in the air, white and hot against his nose and tucks into the tree to conserve heat. He crosses his arms too tightly to cease the shiver-like-whir in his lungs.

  
That's when he hears it.

  
The crunch of leaves, black in the inky night but surely all autumn colours; the faint whistle of that stupid pop tune they keep playing on the radio; and best of all, a voice breaking around his name; All come to his ears.

  
He peeks around the tree, his body moving with him fluidly until right before him is auburn hair peeking out of a green beanie and a wry smile.

  
And then that smile against his is as pleasant as the moments before class in the same bathroom stall, or hands pressed to his chilled cheeks, flushing them a deeper pink. He wants to bite into him and make him feel the pain of the cold, but when he nibbles on his chin (still smooth, he notes), the best sound of all emerges.

  
It is the breath on his ear, mouthing wet against the shell: 'I love you.'

  
He doesn't feel so stupid anymore.


End file.
